Part 5

This page was a great favorite of the king, and often rode with him on long journeys. One day when the king stopped in the neighborhood in which the dragon lived, the page boy slipped off with his net to hunt butterflies; and, in chasing a rare specimen, lost his way and wandered into the very swamp where the dragon was roaming about.

When the fierce old dragon saw the boy, he came rushing and roaring at him in a great rage. The frightened boy looked around; there were no trees to climb for safety, and he knew that if he ran he could not escape, for run as he might, the dragon could run still faster.

He had nothing with which to fight except his butterfly net. The net was fastened to the end of a long stout stick, and the boy decided to defend himself with this as best he could. When the monster charged down upon him, bellowing fearfully, he raised his stick and thrust it with all his might into the bulging side of the beast.

“Wow!” shrieked the dragon; and with a puff it went up in the air and burst, just as a balloon does when a hole is slashed in its cover.

The fierce old dragon was nothing but skin and air!

When he was sure it was quite dead, the boy grasped the empty dragon skin by its spiked tail, and dragged it back to the castle and showed it to the king. He was the maddest king you ever heard of when he saw the dead dragon lying there, and sent off at once for the bold knights who had pretended to fight it so bravely.

“You old humbugs,” he cried. “There lies the red dragon you bragged so much about fighting. It wasn’t a thing but skin and air. If any one of you had so much as touched it with the point of a sword, it would have gone to pieces, as it did when my brave page boy struck it with his butterfly net.”

The cowardly knights had no word to say. So the king ordered them to give the gifts they had received for fighting the dragon to the page boy, who was then so rich that he was able to buy a castle of his own. When he grew up, he was known as one of the bravest knights of that country.

XVII

TWO POEMS

“THE page was pretty brave,” said Roland. “When I was little I used to be scared of the dark, and my mother taught me a poem about being brave.”

“Oh, say it for us, please!” cried a girl near him.

The boy shook his head in refusal, but Mary Frances gave him a smile and said, encouragingly, “Please, I want to hear it.”

Then Roland rose, made a bow, and recited his poem:

IF I COULD CROW

Sometimes I waken up at night, And cannot see a speck of light; I snuggle down into my bed, And pull the clothes in overhead.

I look and peer into the dark, As something seems to whisper, “Hark!” Then, with an awful sudden jump, My heart begins to thump and thump.

Oh, my, I think I’ll be so brave, And all my courage try to save; Then, as I feel my courage go, Our yellow rooster starts to crow.

Then I’m ashamed, and feel so small To think that I’m not brave at all; To know that in the black, black night, Our rooster crows--no soul in sight.

He flaps his wings and crows for fair; His voice sounds like he didn’t care-- Oh, well, what if I’m scared--I know I’d be brave, too, if I could crow!

Just at this point the cat came bouncing into their midst.

“I have just time enough,” he said, breathlessly; “if you are quite ready, I will begin.”

You should have heard the children shout!

“We are quite ready! Go on, Puss! Begin, please,” they cried.

So the cat made a bow, twirled his whiskers, and began:

THE TWINS[A]

There were two little kittens, a black and a gray, And grandmother said, with a frown: “It never will do to keep them both, The black one we better drown.

“Don’t cry, my dear,” to tiny Bess, “One kitten’s enough to keep; Now run to nurse, for ’tis growing late, And time you were fast asleep.”

The morrow dawned, and rosy and sweet Came little Bess from her nap; The nurse said, “Go into mother’s room, And look in grandmother’s lap.”

“Come here,” said grandmother, with a smile, From the rocking-chair where she sat; “God has sent you two little brothers; Now what do you think of that?”

Bess looked at the babies a moment, With their wee heads, yellow and brown, And then to grandmother soberly said, “Which one are you going to drown?”

[A] Author unknown.

As soon as he had finished, he waltzed around three times, turned a somersault, and bounded out of the circle as quickly as he had appeared.

When the Story People had stopped laughing the Story King rose and waved his hand and said:

“That will do for to-day; we must not tire our guest.”

“Oh, I am not tired,” said Mary Frances; “I could listen to such stories forever.”

“Dear child, I believe you love stories as much as we do,” said the Queen, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Well, you shall have a delightful surprise to-morrow.”

* * * * *

While the stories were being told, Mary Frances had noticed a little dried-up man, sitting at a table near the Story Lady, and writing rapidly with an immense quill pen. Before him was a pile of white paper and an inkwell. As she told the story he wrote it down, keeping even pace with her words. Mary Frances had never seen any one write so fast and she watched him, fascinated. Almost without an effort his pen flew over the paper, and as the last word of the story left the Story Lady’s lips his pen stopped. Then he folded his papers neatly and laid them on the table.

As Mary Frances was passing out with the Story Lady, this little man, much to her surprise, stepped up and handed her the papers he had been writing.

“These,” said he, “are your copies of the stories you have just heard.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she replied, hesitating to take them.

“Yes, they are for you,” said the Story Lady. “This is the Ready Writer; he will give you copies of all the stories you hear.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Mary Frances again to the Ready Writer. “How fast you write! You must be the fastest writer in the world!”

The little man bowed and retired, evidently much pleased with her praise of his skill.

XVIII

TINY’S ADVENTURES IN TINYTOWN

“BEFORE it grows dark, I have something to show you--one of the most interesting sights on Story Island,” said the Story Lady. “But we must hasten, because darkness falls here very suddenly; it drops like a curtain--all at once.”

Together they walked down the castle steps and through the town. All was so strange to Mary Frances; the houses, the streets--everything was so fairy-like or story-like, and yet so familiar, that it seemed as if she had seen them all before.

“You live in Story Land, indeed,” said Mary Frances, gazing eagerly about her.

“Yes,” returned the Story Lady, “we are not a very matter-of-fact people.”

Soon they came to a beautiful park on the outskirts of the town.

“This is the Queen’s Garden,” said the Story Lady. “Here are many of the trees, flowers and birds you read about in the story books.”

“Oh! Oh!” cried Mary Frances, with delight, as she looked about her.

Many of the wonders were strange, but here and there others were familiar and she lingered to examine them.

“Not too long,” warned the Story Lady, smiling, “or darkness will overtake us. Here is a surprise for you.”

They came to an enclosure, surrounded by a white picket-fence about a foot high.

“What a tiny little town!” cried Mary Frances, looking down.

“Yes, that is what we call it--Tinytown.”

“Why, it’s just like the towns at home,” said Mary Frances, looking closer. “There’s the school and the flag-staff, the public square and the fountain, the church, the fire-house, the stores and houses--just as they are at home! Oh, where did you get it?”

“We found it in your country,” replied the Story Lady; “and we brought it here and set it up just as you see it and named it after Tiny, the girl who discovered it--but it’s a long story.”

“Oh, won’t you tell me the story?”

“Yes; this evening.”

Mary Frances walked all around the fence and examined the little town minutely. “To think of finding that on Story Island!” she exclaimed. At the same time she felt a little pang of homesickness, but said nothing about it.

“Now we must hasten home,” said the Story Lady.

As it was broad daylight, Mary Frances thought it rather strange to hurry so, but just as they reached the castle, darkness fell and the daylight went just as if some one had pressed a button and shut it out.

That evening while they were resting comfortably in their apartments, the Story Lady related Tiny’s Adventures in Tinytown just as they are set down here.

_Tiny Gets Lost_

Tiny was out in the woods hunting chestnuts, when a bird flew overhead, a bright-colored bird.

Tiny saw the bird twice before she was certain it was a flicker.

At first it seemed like a golden streak of yellow as it flew by, but when it rested on a low bush, she felt sure there wasn’t any yellow about it. Instead, it was bluish-gray and brown. On its head was the most beautiful crescent of red. Its throat was a warm leaf-brown, specked with polka-dots of black.

“Strange!” thought Tiny, tiptoeing nearer and nearer. “Oh, no, it’s not strange at all. Why, it’s a flicker--a golden-winged woodpecker. Its wings are lined with yellow. Of course it looked like a yellow bird when flying overhead.”

“Wick--wick--wick--wick--follow--me.” The bird flew on a little farther.

“I will catch up soon, birdie!” Tiny called, and hurried to the branch where the bird was sitting.

“Wick--wick!” On and on it flew, Tiny following, when suddenly it disappeared entirely, and there was Tiny miles out in the forest, and not knowing the way back home at all. And not a single thing to eat, either.

“My, now I am scared!--but I won’t cry! I’m nine years old, and I won’t cry! I’ll look around and see if there isn’t something I can think to do,” but a big tear blinded her eye.

“Where’s my handkerchief? Where ever did I put my handkerchief?” She looked in her pocket. “But if I’m not going to cry, what do I need it for?” she asked herself, and brushed away a big drop with the back of her hand.

“Oh, oh, look!” Tiny laughed so that the woods echoed, and no wonder she did--for just at her feet lay the tiniest little bit of a town with real houses, no bigger than bird-houses; real people, too, not much taller than pins; real street-lamps no bigger than pencils; real carts no bigger than peanuts; real horses no bigger than katydids. In the center of the town was a lovely little fountain. From the fountain, walks led in four directions.

Houses and public buildings were along these walks; and scattered on the green lawns were pretty flower-beds.

“Oh, what a lovely cottage!” cried Tiny, spying a beautiful little house near the edge of the village.

“I’m going to pick it up! No, I’ll stoop down and look at it. People may be inside. If I picked it up they might be hurt and frightened.”

She leaned over and examined it closely, but was careful not to step into the town.

The walls were covered with vines, and geraniums bloomed at the windows. Charming white curtains hung on the sashes, showing off the brilliant color of the geraniums.

Smoke was coming out of the chimney.

“My, the people who live in that cottage must be getting supper!” The little girl spoke softly to herself. “It seems to me I can smell it cooking. What tiny little bits of dishes they must use--smaller than the littlest ones I own. Why, an acorn would be almost large enough for a bath tub for the house.”

Tiny laughed gayly at the idea.

“I’ll wait here for a minute or two to see if anybody comes out of the door,” she said, taking a seat on the twisted roots of a nearby tree; but, although she waited patiently for several minutes, no one appeared.

“How I wonder who lives in such a dear little home!” she thought. “It must be fun to live in such a beautiful little house. My, isn’t the whole town too sweet for anything! How I’d like to live there!”

She put her toe on the gravel walk which led across the tiny little town, and, in a second she was no longer a big girl; she was as little as a pin herself, only, of course, not so thin as a pin, but just the right size for the house.

_Tiny is Put in the Lock-up_

Tiny rubbed her tiny little eyes with her tiny little hand, and looked about her in amazement. She was very near the cottage she had so much admired. “I’d love to peep in the windows,” she thought, “but it would be so rude. I guess I’ll walk over toward the fountain.”

“Oh, here comes a hand-organ and a little monkey!” Tiny put her hand in her pocket to find a penny, but all she found there were three chestnuts, each no bigger than a period. “Poor little monkey!” said Tiny as he came up to her, lifting his hat, “you must be tired. I wonder if you’d like these nuts.”

The monkey smelled of the nuts, lifted his hat, looked at his master, and nodding his thanks, began to eat them.

“He no tired,” said the Italian organ-grinder. “He work only two hours a day.”

“Good!” said Tiny. “Does he play the rest of the day?”

“He play, play, play,” smiled the man, and passed down the street.

“My,” thought Tiny, as she walked along, “I wish I had taken some money with me this morning. If I had a nickel, I’d buy some bananas from that banana-man’s fruit-stand. I certainly am hungry.”

“Want banan’s?” inquired the man as she stood looking at his wares.

Tiny nodded. “I haven’t any money,” she said, trying to keep from crying.

“Never mind,” smiled the man, “I had little girl once. She gone. She die. I give banan’s you.” He handed her a half-dozen bananas no bigger than pencil points.

“Oh, thank you,” said Tiny. “I’ll never forget how kind you are.”

But the man was on his way down the street before she finished.

She felt much better after eating and stood for quite a while watching the little fountain play and splash.

Away in the distance she heard a dog bark, and at the edge of the village she saw a tiny newsboy and with him a tiny dog, no bigger than a capital letter. Under his arm he carried tiny newspapers no bigger than postage stamps.

“Not much news in such a tiny paper!” thought Tiny, watching the fountain splash. “Some day I’ll buy one to see what it says.”

Suddenly she realized it was getting dark; people passed by her and went into the houses. She felt very lonely and a little frightened. “Oh, dear,” she thought, “I do wonder where I’ll sleep to-night? I wonder if it’s against the law to sleep on the park benches?” She went over and sat down on one. “I guess I’ll try sleeping here, anyhow.”

She was just going to stretch out, when she saw a policeman coming toward her just as fast as he could walk.

“Come, come!” he said. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around here before! What’s your name? Where do you live?”

“Please, Mr. Policeman”--Tiny tried to keep her voice from shaking--“my name is Tiny and I’m lost.”

“Tiny! Tiny! Tiny what? What’s your other name?”

“They call me ‘Tiny girl’,” said Tiny.

“Tiny Girl!” grunted the policeman. “Girl! I’ve never heard of a Mr. Girl or a Mrs. Girl around here! Oh, I know--I understand now--you’ve run away from home--that’s what you’ve done!”

“Oh, no, sir,” began Tiny, but the policeman took her hand, and walked toward the town hall.

“You’ll have to sleep over there to-night,” said he, pointing to the building, “in care of the police matron; and in the morning we’ll see what we can find out. Children that run away we always put in the lock-up.”

They were inside the door now, and the policeman rapped three times on the tiny table. Out came the police matron. Tiny thought she looked rather severe.

“Matron,” said the policeman, “I found this little girl on one of the park benches. She cannot tell me where she lives--she says she’s lost and that her last name is Girl--Tiny Girl. You know there is no family of the name of Girl in this whole town. Put her to sleep in a bed and if anything turns up to-night to show who she is, I’ll let you know. In the morning we’ll investigate. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Officer,” said the police matron.

“Come,” she said to Tiny, “let me wash you and comb your hair, and give you some bread and milk. I’m certainly sorry such a little girl should be a runaway. Your clothes show you have a careful mother.”

“I didn’t run away,” sobbed Tiny; “I tell you I didn’t!”

“How did you come here, then?” asked the matron, stopping combing her hair.

“I was a big, real girl,” said Tiny, “and--and I was walking in the woods, with my mother’s permission, when a bird flew ahead of me and he beckoned me to come on. I wandered and wandered and I came to this place. I stepped on the walk, and--and--and--I--melted into the tiny little thing I am--so there! How I wish I had my mother----”

“Oh, what a story! What an awful story!” cried the police matron. “Stop right away! We don’t allow children to tell lies here!”

“It’s not a story,” began Tiny, but the police matron dragged her to a tiny bedroom, and undressed her and put her to bed.

“You will have your supper in bed,” said she, “then I’ll be sure of where you are!” And she brought a bowl no bigger than a cherry-stone full of bread and milk for Tiny’s supper.

At first Tiny couldn’t eat a mouthful, but she was really very hungry, and finally she ate it all up.

“Mother will find me somehow,” she thought, as she slipped out of bed and knelt to say her prayers.

_Tiny is Adopted_

The next morning Tiny was awakened by a knock at her door.

“Good morning,” smiled the police matron. “I have a delightful surprise for you.”

“Good morning. What can it be?” cried Tiny. “Did my mother----?”

“You’ve nearly guessed,” nodded the police matron, helping her put on her shoes and stockings. “You’re going to have a mother, for a dear old lady--Mrs. Bountiful--wants to adopt you.”

“To adopt me? Why, I thought all adopted children lived in orphanages.”

“Oh, my, no!” exclaimed the police matron. “Children that run away are often----”

“I didn’t run away!” Tiny stamped her tiny foot. “I tell you I didn’t.”

“Come, come,” said the police matron, “you don’t want me to tell your new friend that you have a bad temper and tell stories.”

Tiny certainly did not, and as she was now washed and dressed she went down-stairs with the police matron.

“Here she is, madam,” said the police matron very politely as she led Tiny to where the dearest bit of an old lady was sitting.

“Oh, you dear child!” exclaimed the tiny lady. “You’ve had no breakfast, have you?”

“I just got up,” whispered Tiny, not liking to let her think that the matron had been neglectful.

“Well, well,” smiled the little old lady, “we’ll soon see to that. I have my automobile outside. Good-by, Mrs. Matron.” And taking Tiny by the hand she went out.

“This is my son,” said the little old lady, as they walked up to the car. “He can drive an automobile beautifully. Shake hands with Tiny, Martin.”

“How do you do?”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Martin, lifting his tiny cap.

“Let us drive right home,” said his mother. “This dear little girl hasn’t had any breakfast.” They climbed in, and away Martin drove, down the street through the village park, past the fountain, over to the edge of the village, up to--where do you think?--right up in front of the cottage which Tiny had first seen in the little village.

“Oh, isn’t it a beau-ti-ful home!” she cried.

“How glad we are that you like it,” said the little lady. “Welcome to Rose Cottage.”

“Walk--right--in--Welcome--to--Rose--Cottage,” cried a new voice as they entered. It was a shrill, nasal voice.

Tiny looked around, but saw no one. “Look! I’m--right--here,” cried the voice again.

The little lady laughed. “All right, Polly,” she called, and Tiny saw in one corner of the room a pretty green-and-red-and-yellow poll-parrot.

She wanted to go nearer and pet him, but his mistress hurried her to the breakfast table.

“Let--us--take--a drive,” called out Polly presently.

“Why, yes, let us. Shall we go now, Martin?” asked Mrs. Bountiful.

“Yes, Mother,” smiled the big boy.

“Take--us--all,” called Polly, “Take--us--all--don’t--forget--the--monk.”

“Why,” asked Tiny, who had been very quiet, “what does he mean?”

“He means,” laughed the little lady, “that we take Martin’s pet monkey and Polly for a drive quite often--and they are both very much spoiled.”

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Tiny. “Have you a monkey, too?”

Martin brought the monkey, and his mother took the parrot, and they all got into the automobile.

“Where do we go first, Mother?” asked Martin.

“Will you excuse me, dear,” the little lady asked, “if I whisper? I want to surprise you.”

Tiny nodded and smiled, as his mother leaned over to reach Martin’s ear.

They drove along the park and over into the business part of the village, up to the livery-stables and stopped.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the liveryman said.

“Bring him out,” nodded the little lady, and the man disappeared into the stables.

Soon he led out the dearest little brown-and-white Shetland pony--no bigger than a cricket.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Tiny. “I’d like to kiss him!”

The little old lady laughed delightedly.

“He’s yours,” she cried. “Get out and try to ride him.”

Martin helped her into the wee saddle, the liveryman gave her a tiny whip and the pony cantered all the way down the street and back again.

“Oh, I never thought I’d own a real live pony,” sighed Tiny, patting the little thing’s neck. “It seems too good to be true.”

“Let us go down to the candy shop,” said Tiny’s fairy godmother.

The candy shop wasn’t far away and when they drew up outside, Martin fastened the pony to the lamp-post. The little old lady took Tiny into the shop.

“Here, dear,” she said, opening her purse, “are two dollars. Spend them both. You can have all the candy and ice cream you want.”

So Tiny ate five plates of ice cream and three boxes of candy.

“It was splendid,” she said to the little lady when they’d gotten home. “I’d like to kiss you for all these lovely times.”

“I’m so glad, dear motherless child,” said the little lady with tears in her eyes.

“But I’m not motherless--” began Tiny.

“There, there, we’ll forget about that,” interrupted her new mother.

That night she tucked Tiny into bed quite early.

I must tell you about Tiny’s bedroom. All the woodwork and furniture were white. On the floor was a rose-colored carpet, with a border of pink and white roses and green leaves. At the windows were white curtains with pink roses along each edge. On the little white bureau was a tiny set of golden brushes and combs and boxes and bottles, and in a gold vase on the dressing-table was a very beautiful bouquet of tiny real roses.

Everything was so sweet that Tiny used up nearly every word of praise she knew, and she fell asleep before the little lady had finished tucking her in bed.

It must have been near midnight when Tiny was awakened very suddenly by an awful pain.

She cried out loudly for her mother.

The little lady hastened to her room.

“You poor dear!” she cried. “Martin shall go immediately for Doctor Curum.”

Martin was back with the doctor before Tiny realized he had started.

“Well, well,” said the doctor, looking Tiny over, “this young lady has been having too good a time--eh?”

“Oh, Doctor,” cried the little old lady, “will she die? It is my fault. I gave her too much candy.”

“Don’t worry,” smiled the doctor, quickly opening his case. “These medicines will cure her.”

“I will stay with you, dear,” said the little lady, after seeing the doctor to the door.

Tiny soon fell asleep and did not wake until early daylight.

“My, I feel all right,” she thought, stretching her little arms over her head. “How glad I am! But what smells so queer? I believe it’s smoke! Oh, it is! Something’s on fire!”